


Please

by ACB1



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-07 03:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5441612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACB1/pseuds/ACB1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I should have mentioned last chapter that I am only playing with these wonderful characters and have no ownership over them. </p>
<p>Also, thanks so much for the kudos and kind comments. You all are as lovely as ever!</p></blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Please! Please, Red! Run. Go back! Go back! They’re coming!” She screamed until her throat burned. And, he wasn’t listening. Why wasn’t he listening? She was screaming so loud, and he was getting so close. He was almost there, but he needed to run the other way. Not to her. Not to her. It was too late to save her. She needed him to save himself. “Please! Please! Red!”

The banging disturbed her desperate words and scattered her focus. She was losing sight of him. “Red!” 

“Keen. Wake up! Cut out the yelling, for Christ’s sake.”

Her eyes shot open. All around her was black except for the light beam focused on her. A night guard stood on the other side of the glass with a powerful flashlight and a loud mouth to shock her awake. The trees had disappeared. There was no sky, no grass and mud underfoot. There was no one holding her down, cuffing her, hurting her. And, there was no one running to her. There was no one trying to save her, and there was no one to save. 

“Yeah. That’s it, Keen. Get your ass up and look around. Your boyfriend, Reddington, isn’t here. Night after night of this. It’s tiresome. Monotonous, don’t you think? Time to get a grip and come to terms with your situation. It’s not my business, but get a new nightmare. This one’s pathetic,” he yelled, hitting the glass with his flashlight again for good measure before walking away, leaving her shrouded in darkness. 

Her heart was still pounding furiously in her chest, her mouth was dry and her cheeks wet. She had moved into a sitting position on her cot in the box. The dim light from the overhead viewing area afforded her little more than the ability to see distant shadows. She heard heavy boots against metal as the guard climbed the steps back to his post. A week of living under a microscope with people watching her every move, questioning her, threatening her, pushing her, all day, every day. There was no one to trust, no one to settle her, no respite, no peace. Her anxiety ratcheted up a notch with each passing day. She felt her impending doom, the weight of it bearing down. She knew her time was limited, box or no box; those who were coming for her would not be denied. There was no protecting her now. 

She had never been more alone, even while she was so closely monitored. She welcomed the night, when they turned off the lights, forcing her into almost complete darkness, the watch tower above a distant and ominous sort of night light. Only then could she breathe, could she think. Seven nights had provided her a lot of time to sort things out, to come to terms with her life. She’d made some poor decisions; she couldn’t deny that. Her weaknesses – her impulsiveness being one, her loyal and forgiving nature, on occasion, another – led her to act in ways she wished she could take back. She could also admit that sometimes those same traits had served her well. They allowed her to see Red, really see him – finally – and to help him. He was free now. Out there somewhere. Safe. She hoped. Maybe he was still trying to help her, maybe not. Honestly, she hoped he was far, far away. 

But, either way, she thought about him. Red. In the darkness in the box. Lying on the cot with its scratchy blanket her only shield from the incessant chill in the air, she thought about him and all he had done for her, all he had taught her, all he had made her understand. She knew now that he was a good man. Underneath all of the terribleness that surrounded him, he was a good man. And, if she had to be captured, she was okay with the fact that she had been seized while helping him. It seemed right, fitting. He had been hurt so many times trying to help her, and she wanted him to know that he meant something to her. She wanted him to know that all he had done had not been in vain, that even if he couldn’t protect her in the end, it hadn’t been his fault, and that she appreciated his efforts. She wasn’t innocent, not by a long shot. She would pay for her crime and more, but she didn’t want him to fall on his sword for her. She wanted to leave this world knowing he was out there somewhere slaying dragons – protecting something bigger than her. She hoped her last act had shown him that he was worthy of her care, that he mattered to her. That he mattered. Period. 

Despite how she felt, and all that she’d accepted about herself and her situation, she dreamed of him – every night. Sometimes the dreams began happily – they were on a ship together, the gentle breeze soft and salty, and he was the captain, joyfully fulfilling a boyhood desire; or they were playing in the park, and the sky was so, so blue, and they were laughing, and there was a child – her desire. Sometimes he would stand so close to her and her heart would pound and her palms would sweat and he would tell her things, things she longed to hear. Other times he would hold her hand and look at her with such complete and utter devotion that everything in her would seize up before a warmth would slowly flood her system. But, then, he would be ripped away or she would. Every time. And, then, the screaming would start, the desperate pleading, the impassioned cries for him to leave her, to save himself, to please, please, walk – no, run – away. And, he never would. He. Never. Would. Maybe if he would go, if he would just listen to her, the dreams would stop. 

For a week, her throat had been sore. Her head a pounding mess. Her eyes hollowed out caverns. And, they thought they knew why – Ressler and the others. But, they were wrong. The night guards knew the truth. Agent Keen worried and mourned not for herself; she worried and mourned only for Reddington. With each passing day, he consumed more of her – her thoughts, her actions, her words. By the end of the week, by night seven, the consumption was total. She sat on her cot paralyzed. Where was he? What was he doing? Please be safe, Red. Please. The sum total of her thoughts, of her energy was focused on him. 

She was, in a literal sense, a caged animal. And, in her dark dungeon, she shook herself, breaking through her stillness to finally stand. And, she began pacing. She began walking the rectangular space afforded her and didn’t stop, even after the lights came on, and the guards changed and her breakfast was served, and the day’s interrogations began. Ressler was ultimately called. “Keen! Keen! Look at me!” She didn’t flinch, didn’t stop. “Are you counting, Keen? Are you counting your steps?” She didn’t look up, didn’t answer him, didn’t stop her incessant mumbling. “Liz, come on. Liz! You need to stop this! What are you trying to achieve here? Whatever it is, it isn’t going to work?” He left the box then, with instructions for the guards to call him if she didn’t stop in an hour.

She didn’t stop. Instead, she collapsed. They took her away on a gurney to a makeshift infirmary in another area of the post office. They hydrated her, gave her a sedative and forced her to sleep, which she did, but only for an hour. They had underestimated her – her willpower, her strength, her resourcefulness.

When a nurse uncuffed her, so she could use the bathroom, Liz broke free. Her knowledge of the post office’s layout and her wily physicality allowed her enough time to elude them. And, when her bare feet hit the pavement, she took off. She ran as she’d never run before. In the thin prison garb, which let every bit of the winter wind slash her skin, she ran away, away, away. Just like she told Red to do in her nightmares. But, unlike Red she did not have a plan; she had no destination in mind, no resources anymore. She was unprotected, but free. Her mind was unclear, but her instincts were sharp: “Save myself … and him.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have mentioned last chapter that I am only playing with these wonderful characters and have no ownership over them. 
> 
> Also, thanks so much for the kudos and kind comments. You all are as lovely as ever!

Chapter 2

“Aram?” Red answered the burner phone with a stern question, not a greeting. Something was wrong.

“Mr. Redddington, I know this isn’t a scheduled call. I know you said to call only at the specified times with updates, but … umm …”

“Aram. What is it?”

“Agent Keen. She … she … I don’t know how to say this without …”

“Tell me what’s happening. Now.”

“Forgive me, Mr. Reddington, for any presumption on my part, but she needs you. You need to find a way to come to her. To talk to her. She is … she is not well.”

“Not well? Has she fallen ill?” 

“No, sir, not exactly. It’s more mental than physical, I think. Something happened this morning. I don’t know all of the details, but she is … not herself. They had her sedated in the infirmary. Then, she became violent and escaped the post office briefly. She broke a nurse’s nose in the process. They caught up to her a few blocks away from here. She fought them, Mr. Reddington, and I think they hurt her. She seems … uncomfortable … and some of what she’s saying … she’s not making sense.”

“Where is she now, Aram?”

“She’s back in the box, Mr. Reddington. On display. It’s … it’s not right what they’re doing to her.”

“Here’s what I need you to do. Listen carefully to me …”

*******************************************************************************************

Somewhere between sleep and consciousness, she dwelled. The images complete with their accompanying smells and sounds swam before the dim canvas of her eyelids – a fire, the smell of burning flesh, a hand, a bunny, blood, more blood, the sensation of being lifted and carried away, a deep voice, then rain and cold. Then, Sam and warmth and comfort, and a doctor, and it would all be alright, Masha. And, for a long time, it was. Until it wasn’t anymore. 

She remembered her mother now – how she smelled, the texture of her skin, the sound of her voice, her gentle touch, and her ultimate horror at her little girl, the killer. And, she remembered Red, too; the man who held her close and smoothed her hair as he soothed her with his deep voice: “This doctor will make you feel so much better, Masha. Just close your eyes as she asks. Don’t be afraid. Nothing will hurt you now. I won’t let anything hurt you ever again.” 

“Oh, Red, you didn’t have to promise me that,” she murmured. “No one should have the weight of that kind of promise on his shoulders. But, I hear you now. I see you as you were then. So clearly. So young, so handsome. And kind and good. Still untouched by the tragedies that would transform your life. If we had never met, might you have gone on unharmed? If not for my family, might yours have been spared?” 

She knew something had happened to her today. Sometime between her bare feet touching the pavement outside of the post office and being forced to the ground only blocks away, something had happened to her. There were inklings of something before that, but only then did a switch get flipped, illuminating a part of her brain that had been dormant, waking memories that had been extinguished for decades. 

What she had seen mere flashes of when she had killed Connelly fell sharply into place. A full narrative had replaced the fragments. The light shone brightly, and the events of decades ago seemed mere seconds past. She saw her father’s scowling face, his large hands as he shook her mother. She felt the gun, cold and heavy, in her hands. She knew instinctively what to do with it. She saw her mother’s blonde hair moving side to side, waves of anguish spilling down her shoulders. No more. No more. The sound was so loud. It scared her. The force of the bullet pushed her back. Then, she felt her fingers loosen around the gun and felt the air around it as it fell heavily to the ground. She had done something so bad. Her mother. Her mother’s face didn’t smile; it changed, contorted, became so ugly with rage and disgust that she ran and hid. Her mother didn’t come to find her. Her mother didn’t look for her. Her mother had cried for her father instead. Her mother had screamed his name – Michael, Michael, Michael! She covered her ears then and closed her eyes. 

Soon, she smelled smoke. But, she didn’t move. She was paralyzed. Terrified. Then, there was Red. A man she had never seen before, his face a beacon in her nightmare. He reached for her, but she shrank away. She shook her head. No. No. Go now, there’s a fire. I smell it. But, he wouldn’t listen, because she was too afraid to speak the words aloud. He just kept reaching for her, talking to her, his voice calm and soft, and the fire was coming. Go away, she screamed in her mind. Go away. Instead, he took her hand; he lifted her up, and then they moved swiftly, together. She held her bunny in one hand and her other hand stayed tight against the back of his neck. And, when he fell, they fell together, a fiery beam upon his back. Then, she found her voice and screamed loud and long. “Get up. Get up. Please get up. We need to go. Please. Wake up, and I will help you.” 

When he finally opened his eyes, he looked angry. He threw the burning beam off of his back, and she lay her hand on him to help put the fire out. But, he had pushed her away then, rolling onto his back to put out the flames. Her wrist hurt; it hurt so badly, but then he scooped her up, and they ran again. Her nightgown and her bare feet no protection from the cold and rain. Her slippers had fallen off somewhere. She’d never see them again, she knew. And, her mother? “Where is Mama? Get her out, Mister! She’s in the house!”

He put her in a car. “We have to go, sweetheart. Please. We have to go now.” 

They drove and drove. He moaned sometimes. His face was sweaty, and his eyes were watery. She shook with fear and cold, sitting in the backseat with her bunny clutched tightly to her chest. She woke when they stopped, and Red carried her into a warm house where she met Sam. The two men talked loudly and quietly, and a woman came to help with Red’s burned back. “You need to go to a hospital, Raymond. You are at great risk of infection, shock, permanent nerve damage, and so many other things. This is too much for us to handle here, this way.” 

“Kate, do the best that you can. No hospital. Getting found is the greatest risk, and one I won’t take. We need to protect this child, above all else.” 

“You are making a mistake, Raymond,” she sighed, already getting out her bag to begin working on him. Kate Kaplin had been so very pretty. Glamorous. Smart. Efficient. Liz could see her so clearly now. And, Sam, too. So young, so fit and vibrant. 

She saw it all, felt it all, experienced it all. Life as it had been then, so many years ago, for so brief a time. The beginning and the ending. Red had stayed with them for weeks, so had Kate Kaplin. They were Sam’s best friends. Liz would visit Red in his bedroom, which was set up like a proper hospital room, and bring him tea. He called her his little nurse. She talked and talked to him, and he proved the most patient of patients, indulgent and kind. He explained to her that he was healing, and soon he would leave, but before he did, she had to heal, too. But, she showed him her wrist, and said Kate told her it was healing fine. But, he explained it was a different kind of healing, healing for her bad dreams and her worries and her sadness. She was a special little girl, and she would have a special life with Sam. 

She didn’t understand, but when Red took her to a nice lady doctor, she held his hand and nodded when he asked her to trust him. She did trust him. He was the nicest, best man she had ever met. She watched his eyes as the doctor talked to her. He smiled and nodded at her, but he looked so sad. Then, she fell asleep to the doctor’s soft, coaxing words. 

She never saw Red after that, and Sam never talked about him. One life ended that day, so another could begin. And, until today Liz hadn’t understood. Not really. She hadn’t understood what it took for her to become Elizabeth Scott Keen. She hadn’t understood what Red had sacrificed physically, professionally, emotionally and in almost every other way. They had carried the fulcrum with them that night, unbeknownst to them, and decisions had been made, a course plotted, a journey begun, the meshing of two lives begetting the meshing of many more, and so it went. And, he had never fully explained his part in it. But, now she saw him – clearly. And, she would die knowing, and that counted for something.

She drifted in the cold darkness of her glass prison to dream of him – as she saw him now. Older but still warm and kind and smart. Her beacon in the nightmare of her life. And, then she felt the grass underfoot and the sun on her face and heard the laughter, his and a little girl’s, – so, it was the park then. 

“Where are you, little one? I hear you, but I can’t see you,” she said. 

“Here I am, Mama. Here I am,” came the little voice. “Find me.” 

Liz looked and looked, but she couldn’t find her. “I can’t find you. Red? Where are you?” 

“We’re here, Lizzie. We’re waiting for you. Don’t you see us? We’re right here.”

“No. Red? I don’t see you. I can’t see you. Please, help me find you. I need to find you.”

“Lizzie, I’m right here. Open your eyes.”

“They are open, and you are nowhere. Why tonight when I want you to come to me, you don’t? When I need you to stay, you won’t?”

“Lizzie, look at me. Turn your head to the glass. I am here.”

“No. You’re not. And, she’s gone, too,” she whimpered. 

“Aram, get the code and get me in there. Quickly,” Red said into his phone.

“Mr. Reddington, I just need a minute. They change the code every day, and I just need to look …”

“Red! Why are you doing this to me? I just want to see you – and her. Like always. Please. I know it will only be for a minute. I know, but it helps me to see you,” she pleaded in earnest now, her tears falling. 

“Lizzie, I promise you, I promise you, you will see me,” he said, as he waited impatiently for Aram’s answer, his empty hand pressed against the glass. 

“Okay, Mr. Reddington, here it is,” Aram paused, then with a measure of disgust gave Red his answer. “It’s Juliet.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays, everyone!!! Thanks for reading this little story. I hope you all have a happy and healthy new year!

Chapter 3

With shaking fingers, he punched in the code – J-U-L-I-E-T. The heavy door began sliding open, the loudness of it jarring in the thick darkness of the cavernous room. She gasped, pulled startlingly awake by the beeping and groaning and scraping of her prison cell’s entrance. Her chest heaved as she tried to breathe through her fear – her dream world blurring her reality. “Who’s there?”

He stepped through the open door and approached her swiftly as she moved into a sitting position on her cot. “Who’s there,” she repeated. 

He sat down beside her without delay and cupped her face with his hands. He was a vision in the darkness, his features slowly becoming more and more pronounced as her eyes adjusted to her surroundings. “Red,” she breathed. “Red. Red? What is happening?”

His eyes moved across her face, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears upon her cheeks. “Lizzie …”

“Red, you need to go. Someone will see you here. The guards, they are …”

“The guards are taking the night off. We are protected for now,” he assured, his thumbs still stroking her face, his tone soothing and relaxed. “I was told you had a difficult day. I wanted to make sure you are okay.”

She was close enough to him, despite the darkness, to see his eyes, and they were anything but calm. He looked afraid. She swallowed and took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. Was he really here? Or, was her mind playing tricks on her? Was her body? She could feel his hands on her, feel his body heat, she could even smell him. He was the answer to her days-long question. He was here, and he was whole, and she knew him. She opened her eyes, and he was still right there, right in front of her. 

She lifted her hands from where they sat in her lap and ran them slowly, gingerly up his arms, across his shoulders, to rest at the base of his neck. She took the fingers of one hand and stroked them, feather-light, up and down the back of his neck. He was so still; his warm breath that she had felt against the side of her face was no more. Then, he shivered. 

“Right here. I held onto you right here. So tightly. I was so afraid, and you tried to calm me,” she said quietly, her eyes softened, lost in a memory. “But, you were afraid, too. I didn’t think we’d make it out of there alive. You were so brave and strong, but I know you felt the same thing. Like now.”

“Lizzie,” he breathed, finally, “tell me about today.”

Her fingers continued to move hypnotically against him, as her eyes shifted to look beyond him to the blackness. “I have been in this box for seven days, almost eight, and I know this is all just some kind of waiting game. I know the cabal is coming; I know there is no saving me from this fate. And, as much as I should be focused on that and trying to save myself, I can’t seem to do it. All I can think about is you. I dream of you each night. The dreams, they start off so wonderful, so peaceful and sweet, but every time, every time, they change. They change,” she whispered. “And, I tell you to go, to stay away, to protect yourself, to leave me be, and you never will. You never will.”

“No. I never will,” he vehemently assured.

Tear welled in her eyes as she looked at him again, searching his eyes. “I remember you. I remember you saving me from my burning house. I remember you carrying me out and driving us to Sam’s, even though you were in terrible, terrible pain. I remember the weeks you stayed with us. I remember how they begged you to go to the hospital, and you wouldn’t risk it. I remember how indulgent and kind you were to a scared, lost little girl. I remember how worried you were the moment before I closed my eyes to leave Masha Rostova behind, so I could become something new, someone new. I know now the man you were.”

“Lizzie …”

“I loved that man. He was the kindest, bravest, most gentle, sweetest man I’d ever met. He was funny and patient and self-sacrificing. He was the best kind of man. My pure innocent heart knew that absolutely then. Despite everything, I am still that girl. And, you are still that man.” Her fingers stopped moving to apply gently pressure on his neck, to move him forward, to allow her intentions to be known. She moved then, too, and gathered him in her arms, squeezing him tightly to her. “I’ve been going mad in here; it’s true. I’ve been struggling with reality, and today was difficult, but I know now. I know. And, no matter what happens, I’m glad for that.”

He brought his arms around her, holding her so, so close, and sighing. “My dear, sweet, Lizzie, you will not perish here. No matter what you believe. I will never let that happen. Do you understand me?”

“Red, you can’t protect me from everything. My nightmares are filled with you trying; my fear, my greatest fear, is that you get killed trying. Please go now. Before someone sees you here,” she begged, as she pulled away, her hands staying on his arms, maintaining contact. 

“Don’t you see, Lizzie? I will never go. I will never stop trying. What you have only just remembered, I have always known. Inside you resides the pure heart of that most beloved little girl. I see you clearly, as I always have. I am so close to freeing you, to dismantling the last of the cabal; it is imploding, Lizzie. I just need another day or two for it to be complete. I want to take you away with me right now, but if I do, your name will not be cleared as it needs to be for your life to continue safely. Do you trust me, can you hang on another day or two. Please?” 

She laughed softly at that. “I have always trusted you. For a long time, Red, I just didn’t quite understand why. Now, I do. Promise me you will be careful out there?”

“I am always careful,” he replied. “Now lie back. Aram said you were hurt today. Tell me about that.”

It was so simple with him. It could have always been if he had only told her of their true connection. But, for him, so much had happened in between to distort who he was, how he thought of himself, but Liz saw him in his purest form now. And, if she made it out alive, as Red promised she would, she may, one day, look upon this cold, sterile, confining box as a gift. A present. One that revealed both her past and her future.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I thought this was done, but I couldn't leave them in that rather dark place; it is the holidays, after all. So, here is one of two more chapters that allow for a little more cheer and hopefulness, as the holiday warrants.

It took several more days for Red’s plan to come to fruition, which meant Liz spent several more harrowing nights in the box where her nightmares, instead of abating after seeing Red, raged more frightfully. She was terrified to fall asleep, and when she did, it was in spurts that always ended very badly. Now that she knew Red was still working to clear her name, she also knew his safety was truly precarious. The knowledge ate away at her like acid. 

Red didn’t return to her, though, except in her dreams, and, for that, she was grateful. He had taken a great risk coming to the post office, and as much as seeing him had temporarily calmed her, there was nothing he could do to assuage her overwhelming fear for him. His place in her nightmares was permanent; he was the one fixture in the ongoing narrative of her mind. 

The day Ressler came to let her out of the box for good, she was ill. The constant chill in the air, the lack of sleep, her inability to eat properly, and her anxiety had all finally gotten the better of her. So, instead of enjoying her freedom, weak and exhausted, she checked into a motel, barred the door with most of the moveable furniture in the room, crawled into the bed and slept.

The final nail in the coffin of the cabal had been hammered in in Sweden, and Red was there to oversee it. Aram alerted him the minute Liz was allowed to walk out of the post office an exonerated woman. 

“Where is she now,” Red asked, as he boarded his plane headed back to the U.S. 

“I don’t know, Mr. Reddington. I gave her the burner phone as you asked, but I tracked it to the women’s locker room in this building. I guess she forgot it in the commotion of changing and leaving this place.”

Red swiped his hand down his face. “How was she? When she left?”

“Unwell. I’m worried about her, sir. I’m looking for her now. When I have a location, I will let you know immediately.”

“Thank you, Aram. You have been most helpful through this. You are a good friend to Elizabeth.”

“I want her to be alright.”

“So do I, Aram. So do I.” 

***************************************************************

By the time Red’s plane landed, Aram had Liz’s location for him. Red had Dembe drive him directly there, a rundown establishment in one of D.C.’s seedier areas. When knocking on her motel room door didn’t work, Red picked the lock. When he still could barely move the door, he enlisted Dembe’s help. Together they pushed through the barriers she’d set up inside and entered the room. She remained unmoved on the bed, despite the noise, huddled under the sheets and blankets in a tight little ball. Asleep. Both men, breathing heavily, stared at the small woman on the bed for a moment. Finally, Red approached her. Crouching down beside the bed, he brushed her hair from her face and placed the back of his hand on her cheek. 

“Dembe,” he said, alarmed. “She is incredibly warm.” He moved his hand to her forehead. “She has a fever. I’ll stay with her. Will you go and get some medication? In my luggage. Then, we’re getting her out of this God-forsaken place.”

Dembe nodded and exited the room as Red began to speak quietly. “Lizzie. Lizzie, wake up, sweetheart. Wake up for me.”

She stirred and moaned. “Red.”

“Yes. I’m here. Open your eyes now, Lizzie,” he answered, smoothing her hair gently. 

“Can’t,” she mumbled. “Then you’ll be gone. And, I’ll be by myself.”

“No, sweetheart. It’s all over. Look at me. Please,” he coaxed, bending so close to her, placing his lips near her ear. “You are not alone. You will never be alone.”

“Red.” She lifted one arm from under the sea of sheets and blankets and grasped the back of his neck, moving her head slightly, so they were cheek-to-cheek. “Mmmmm. That feels nice.”

“You are burning up,” he said, using his free hands to push away the blankets and lift her from the bed. “We’re leaving, Lizzie. You need to be cared for properly.” 

His adrenaline was pumping. He was angry at what she’d been through, angry she was ill, angry that in her delirium she didn’t understand that he was there, with her, angry that she was still afraid. He left the motel room, and met Dembe on the stairs as he was making his way back up with a bottle of pills. “Let’s get her to the house, Dembe. Now.”

When Red settled her in the car, her head in his lap, his hand in her hair, she finally woke with a start. “What’s happening? Red?”

She didn’t move, only looked up at him from her prone position, startled. “You’re sick, Lizzie,” he explained. “We need to get you well. I need to get you well.”

She licked her red, chapped lips, and smiled. Her glassy eyes and fever-flushed cheeks spoke to her illness, but her expression spoke to something else. “We’re safe for now, aren’t we? You’re here, and we’re free?”

“Yes, my dear,” he nodded, gracing her with a small smile and tilting his head down toward her. “Your freedom, your innocence has been restored. Everything can go back to the way it was before.”

She bit her bottom lip as she searched his face before slowly shaking her head. “No. No. It can’t.” 

He was about to protest, but her hand found his, and she linked their fingers together and sighed. “I’m so tired,” she admitted. 

His other hand made a pass through her hair again, gently massaging her head as he did. “Then sleep, Lizzie. And, when you wake, I will still be right beside you.”

“Promise me, please. Promise me,” she said, as her eyes slipped shut. 

“I promise you, sweetheart.” He kissed her warm forehead then before settling his head back against the leather seat. 

******************************************************************************************************************************

After four days in Red’s comfortable, warm safe house – four days of sleep, often with Red near, and medication and cool liquids and warm soup – she emerged from her bedroom showered and feeling like herself again. His back was facing her as she entered the living room, where a fire was going and a Christmas tree stood immense and luminous in the corner. Red was reading, engrossed it seemed, and her stocking feet were quiet upon the floor. When she placed her hand gently on his shoulder, he jumped. 

“Sorry,” she said, coming around to face him. “Didn’t mean to surprise you. You just looked so content, I didn’t want to disturb you until I had to.”

“By all means, disturb me,” he smiled, gesturing for her to take a seat in the chair beside him. As she moved to sit, he took her in, his eyes wide: “Your hair.”

She lifted a hand to touch her newly brown locks, shyly. “Yes. It was time. It feels right. I had Nancy help me. Thank you for her, Red. She has been so wonderful.”

“She is an excellent nurse. Her bedside manner is unmatched,” he nodded. “You look well, Lizzie.”

“I feel much better. Thank you for staying close to me through all of this. It helped me to sleep … having you close,” she admitted, forcing her eyes to stay steady on his warm ones for a time before she finally turned away to survey the room. She had mostly been confined to her bedroom since their arrival. She knew they were in rural Virginia, and that this estate had acres and acres of land surrounding it, most of it snow-covered now. Her eyes finally rested on the Christmas tree with its glowing lights and beautiful ornaments. “It’s Christmas tomorrow,” she mused, quietly.

“Yes,” he answered, hesitantly, biting the inside of his cheek. “And, if you’d like me to take you somewhere else, if you are ready to leave here, I can …”

“No,” she interrupted quickly. “No. I’d like to stay. I mean, if you are. But, don’t let me keep you here, Red. If there is somewhere you need to be, please go. I can … I can find a place to go.” Her voice trailed off at the end, as she realized her true state of homelessness. 

“There is nowhere else I’d rather be on Christmas than here … with you,” he assured her earnestly. 

She sat quietly for a moment, admiring the fire and the tree, until she sucked in a startled breath, remembering for him: “Red, I wasn’t thinking. What happened to you so long ago … will this be uncomfortable for you? Don’t let me make this holiday more difficult for you than it needs to be.”

He closed the book in his hands and placed it carefully on the table between them. After a long interval, he spoke: “For so long, this holiday was difficult for me to bear. I didn’t acknowledge it, much less celebrate it. Much time has passed, though, Lizzie, and I think with you here, I might be able to find a little joy in it this time around. I know how you’ve always enjoyed the holiday. Sam kept me updated. He sent me pictures, wrote me letters about you. It pleased me to hear of your happiness.”

“Even if you had none of your own,” she asked.

“More so because I didn’t. Your pleasure was mine.” He rose quickly then, turning his head away from her. “Wine?”

“Sure,” she answered, standing, too, and watching him for a moment before walking to the window. “Hey, it’s snowing,” she said, with a measure of excitement. 

He walked toward her with a glass in each hand. “So, it is,” he answered, softly, offering her a glass of Merlot and standing beside her.

“The sun is setting, too, Red. That means it’s officially Christmas Eve,” she reminded him, as she continued to stare out at the snow.

“Hmmmm.” Lost in his own head, he stared out into the growing darkness with her. 

When her glass was empty, she turned to him, her body brushing against his arm as she did so: “Should we make a nice dinner,” she asked him, her voice relaxed and deepened by the wine. “I’m finally hungry. Famished, actually.”

He took a deep breath and drained his glass before turning to her. His hand reached out to touch her rich, dark hair, gentle fingertips brushing through soft strands. She couldn’t help but to lean into him, to give in, for just a moment, to the comfort she wanted from him, the closeness she craved. 

“I’m glad to see you like this,” he said, his voice husky and warm, reaching out to her in the small space between them. 

She only blinked at his statement, pleased by his proximity, needing little else. Unable to resist, she lifted her hand to the back of his neck, her connection to him there so strong; as in the box, she ran her fingertips up and down his nape. As he shivered, she stepped forward, closing the space between them. There was so much she wanted to say to him, so much she needed to say, but more than any of that, she needed to feel him, real and solid, before her. So, she placed her lips on his gently, tasting him, feeling the texture of his lips. When he didn’t resist her, when he didn’t pull away, she released his lips slowly, only to quickly bring hers back to press against his once more – this time with more pressure, with more assurance, with more determination. And, this time he responded in kind, kissing her back, thoroughly, with such a lack of timidity that something inside of her broke wide open. When he finally pulled away, sensing a shift in her, she only allowed him a second or two to see her before she pulled him against her and held him tightly. 

“Lizzie, you’re shaking,” he rumbled against her. 

“I’m just so glad to be here with you. That’s all,” she whispered. “Let’s make dinner, okay?”


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

She baked him salmon with wild rice. She steamed broccoli and carrots. She only allowed him to make dessert – a dense, rich chocolate cake with strawberries. She called it “a Christmas feast,” and while they ate that feast, she talked and laughed with him. She felt warmed by the wine and the man she had rediscovered, in a way, after decades. She knew she was seeing him differently now, and she knew that new view was having an effect on her ability to behave as he had come to expect her to over the past two and a half years. Her time in the box, her consuming thoughts of him, her recovered memories, her illness – all of it had challenged her equilibrium. So, she ate, drank, and spoke carefully and thoughtfully, working hard to be present in the moment, to enjoy her holiday with him, to revel in the peace they had gained, to give thanks for their hard-won freedom. 

Their dinner was a long one, the dining room dripping in candlelight and filled with Christmas music from some unseen source. They told old war stories of Sam, his friend, her father. They talked of their childhoods, of their favorite movies, of their best birthdays and dates and meals. They steered clear of best Christmases, most challenging jail breaks, worst nightmares, most harrowing near death experiences, among other topics. The conversation stayed safe and light and festive. The wine flowed. The snow fell.

Only when she began to yawn several hours in did he suggest she head to bed. “You’re still getting your strength back, Lizzie. Best not to overdo it.” He reminded gently as they made their way to the living room and the glow of the fireplace.

“I’ll be up in a minute. I’d just like to sit by the tree for a bit,” she said, finishing her glass of cognac and snuggling into the chair she’d occupied earlier, near the fire. 

He surveyed her, a hand on the mantle above the fireplace. He nodded and sipped his drink. He portrayed a casualness he did not feel. Dembe had left to spend Christmas with his family. Nancy was relieved of her duties as Liz’s nurse. They were alone as they had been much of their time on the run together, but now there was nothing to run from. There were, instead, only things to face – their shared past, her knowledge of it, her fears, their kiss, the future.

“Good night, Lizzie,” he said lowly, before draining his glass, warming his belly, and walking toward her slowly. He leaned over her carefully, leaving his glass on the table next to her. 

“Good night, Red,” she replied quietly, her eyes on the tree.

He watched her as he straightened. She didn’t look in his direction. He turned and made his way slowly up the stairs, to his room, closing the door gently behind him. 

She sighed when she heard the click of his door. She was as close to being alone as she had been since her capture. She could hardly count the motel room she had slept in for several hours before Red came to retrieve her; she had been delirious with fever; she didn’t feel the effects of her solitude then, but she did now. She took a deep shaky breath and let the fear in; she needed to feel it; she needed to let it work its way through her, so she could come out of the other side of this. She feared what she believed was the inevitable return of her nightmares. She feared sleeping alone in a bed with no one watching over her. She feared the truth of her mother and father, who they were, their true nature and the extent of their love for her. She feared what resided in her that allowed her to kill. She feared what she felt for the man sleeping upstairs. 

As much fear as she felt, she also felt gratitude. And, she vowed to let them work in concert as she reached for the decanter of cognac. There were worse things than a beautiful Christmas tree, snow on the window sill, and warm liquor to soothe your soul. There were worse things. 

***********************************************************************************************************************

The sky was a bright, cloudless blue. The grass was cool underfoot, and there was a breeze. She was there; her blonde hair waving in the wind. She was holding a kite string in her hand, looking up at the big, yellow butterfly as it dipped and swayed in the sky. 

“Mama, I’m here. Let’s play.”

“Hi, my little one, I’ve missed you.” Liz touched her soft hair, reveling in its silkiness. 

“I am always here, Mama. I am always here waiting for you. I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby,” she answered, the simple truth threatening to clog her throat. 

“Where is my daddy, today?”

“I don’t know, sweet girl. I don’t see him. I can’t see him. Red? Red? Where are you? We’re here, Red. We’re waiting for you. Red!” She called out, but she couldn’t leave her child to search for him. The sky was darkening.

“Find him, Mama. I need him. I want him to see me. My kite is flying.”

“Red, we need you. Red! I need you here! Please come to us. We need you! Red!”

“I don’t see him anywhere, Mama. Is he anywhere?” The sky had gotten too dark for Liz to see the kite. 

“Red! Red! Where are you?”

“Lizzie! Lizzie! Wake up! I am right here. Lizzie, I am right here.” 

“RED!”

“Elizabeth! Wake up and look at me, sweetheart. I am with you,” he said loudly. He had rushed out of his room at her screams, jolted from a light sleep to find her on the floor in front of the Christmas tree, a blanket twisted around her legs, her hands fisted near her face and tears on her cheeks. He couldn’t wait for her to wake up; he sat down on the ground beside her and pulled her onto his lap, cradling her to him. He pressed his face into her hair and rocked her gently. “Please, please, Lizzie, wake up. I need you to wake up for me.” 

Her broken sobs filled the room, and tears pricked his eyes. “Is this what it was like for you, my darling? All those nights in that box? I will kill Donald Ressler. He is a dead man,” he whispered a litany as he rocked her back and forth. “No one will survive this. No one. Lizzie, you are here with me, and I will never leave you. Can you hear me? What they have done to you, what I have. There can be no justifying it. There is no exoneration for it. But, please, let me help you. I am here, Elizabeth.”

Her sobs eventually quieted, and her tears slowed. His t-shirt was wet with her weeping, and his back dripped sweat from the stress of trying to help her through the nightmare. 

She had suffered a trauma, and just like it had been when she was a little girl, that fear and anxiety played out in her dreams. But, he couldn’t just block her memories anymore; that parlor trick had only worked for so long anyway.

“Red?” Her voice was small against him.

He pulled back from her only a fraction. “Lizzie?”

“What’s happening?” Her wide, frightened eyes searched his.

“You were having a nightmare, sweetheart. You were calling for me,” he stopped, taking a deep breath. 

She looked at him only a moment more before dropping her head; the trembling she’d been experiencing not yet abating, she clasped her hands together to try to get a hold of herself. 

He moved his arms from around her and brought his hands to her face. Wiping her tears, he asked, gently, “Can you tell me about your dream, Lizzie? Will you?”

She shook her head, first; then, she opened her mouth only to close it seconds later; finally, she lifted her head to look at him, devastation and fear in her eyes: “I’m afraid to tell you,” she admitted.

“Please try,” he begged.

She closed her eyes for a moment, licking her lips and biting her bottom one. When she began, she spoke slowly and quietly: “At first, in the box, you were trying to save me, and I wanted to protect you. I wanted you to stay away from me, so you wouldn’t get caught or hurt. But, before that, there was, sometimes, happiness – a boat where you were the captain, a park where we played with a little girl. But, those never lasted; they always morphed into something terrible. And, now … well, I haven’t had any nightmares since I’ve been here. But, tonight I was alone, and … and I don’t know how to stop being afraid. I’ve been afraid for so long, I just don’t … know how to be anymore. How to be okay. I want to be okay.”

“You will be. I promise you. You will be okay. Now tell me about tonight’s nightmare,” he pressed.

“Our … my … my little girl is there, but we couldn’t find you. It’s bright and sunny, and then there is a terrible storm approaching, and I am afraid, and we can’t find you. Before I needed you to go away, but now … I need something else. I need to have you near me,” her body sagged in his arms, the weight of telling her story, deciphering it, exhausting and humbling her. 

“You will be alright, Lizzie. You’ve lived through an extremely difficult time. Your mind and body are still trying to process what’s happened. We will get you some help; someone who can talk with you, someone qualified to help you work through all of this,” he assured her, his tone soothing but his eyes fierce and determined. 

She finally took real notice of herself, sitting on his lap on the floor. “Oh, here, let me get up. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She moved to stand, but he held her there, moving his arms around her.

“Wait just a minute, Lizzie. Please,” he said. He placed his arms around her carefully and hugged her to him. “You need to know that I am here with you – always, as long as you want me to be. Your nightmares are wrong. You will never need to search for me; you will never need to raise your voice for me, because I will be right beside you.”

Her breath hitched, and she moved her arms around him and held on to him tightly. “I don’t know when I started to need you, Red, but I do. I need to protect you, I need to see you, I need to feel you. And, it scares me. It scares me, because I am not sure how to go back to how we were before, how to turn this off now, how to move on from this … and, a part of me doesn’t want to,” she admitted, her voice small and distant, despite her closeness. 

“Need me, then, sweetheart, because I certainly need you – more than you could ever know. I want you to be well, to feel strong and safe. But, needing me? How about we try not to heal you of that, okay? Maybe you could continue to carry that particular sickness with you, hmm?”

She laughed a little against him then. “Okay,” she said, sniffing, pulling away to look at him. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

He laughed at her. “Not exactly. Look at the clock on the mantle. Can you see it from here?”

She pulled back in his arms slightly more and then nodded. “It’s 4:25.” Then, she looked at him and smiled, “It’s Christmas. Merry Christmas, Red.”

He grinned. “Merry Christmas, my dear.”

“Let’s get up. Your back is hurting sitting like this. I can tell,” she said, extricating herself from him and standing up. She held out her hand for him, and he took it. She helped pull him up, and he groaned on the way. She laughed with him.

“Lizzie, I am old man,” he said as they moved to the sofa, where they sat next to one another, facing the tree. 

“Not too old, Red. Not too old,” she assured. 

“Good to know,” he said, sighing contently beside her, moving his arm around her shoulders. She snuggled into him, sighing, too. 

For a while they were quiet. She leaned her head back against him, relaxing her stressed body, taking comfort in him. He moved his hand back and forth soothingly on her arm. She was so comfortable with him, so content. “This is perfect,” she whispered. 

She felt him nod even though she didn’t lift her head. “It is,” he whispered back. 

“I wouldn’t trade everything that’s happened, Red, because I know you now – the man you were when I was a little girl, I know you again. And, I know that you know me. That is my Christmas gift.”

“And, now, you also understand that you have been my Christmas gift for so many years,” he admitted quietly. 

She nodded, unable to say more just then.

Eventually, he got up and built them a fire, got them coffee, opened the curtains so they could watch the sunrise. She retrieved the blanket from the floor and placed it over their legs. They sat together in the peaceful cocoon they’d created, built tightly and securely, able to protect them so they could grow and develop into something beautiful. 

“Lizzie, tell me about the little girl … in your dreams. Our little girl. Tell me about her,” he asked.

She quickly turned to look at him, her chest tightening. Just like that he had cut to the chase, gotten to the heart of the matter. He had, with a few simple sentences, moved them beyond doubt, questions, worries, awkwardness; he had simply taken them to the future. His eyes were warm and hopeful, his face open and expectant. She could do this. She could take hold of what he was offering. 

“She is so beautiful, Red. Her blonde hair is long and wavy; it moves just perfectly in the breeze. She is smart, playful, loving and kind. She makes me so happy. She loves me, and you, too.” Once she started, Liz couldn’t easily stop. She told him about the park where they played. She told him of the ship where he was the captain, and the air was salty and warm. She told him of the happiness, of the things he would say and the way he would look at her and how she felt about it. She told him all of the good things, and the bad things, the bad things, dulled in comparison. 

“Lizzie?” He stopped her story.

“Yes?”

“Merry Christmas again, sweetheart.” He leaned forward and kissed her lips, softly and sweetly. “You make me unbelievably happy.”

“Merry Christmas, Red. Again. And, again and again,” she said between kisses, as she moved to better face him and kiss him properly, again and again and again.


End file.
